


Arrangements

by uumuu



Series: The shores of life [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuiviénen, Curtain Fic, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9980657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: Míriel's family settles in a new house.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the 'Furnishing the Home' square in my LadiesBingo card.
> 
> Set after _Alopaynay_.

Yúlië stopped for a moment next to the open door, looking back, still a little unused to the view, whose most prominent landmarks she still had to commit to memory. 

Morwë had decided to relocate his people further east and north. Their new settlement was at the very foot of the Red Mountains, on verdant hills traversed by a host of narrow rivers. The lake could still be seen from there, though they had to cross the whole forest to reach it now. But the area was safer: the mountains were a refuge against the Dark Rider, and were inhabited by a friendly race hitherto unknown to the Quendi, with whom they were trying to establish an alliance.

Míriel and Yúlië's hut was at the back of the village, overlooking the rest of the settlement. It was bigger and sturdier than their old one, with three large rooms and a smaller out-room for storage.

It was almost _too_ large for their small family, but Fëanáro was approaching his majority, and would very likely have children of his own soon, and Míriel and Yúlië had taken here in an orphan right after moving, a girl merely ten years of age, who seemed to have no living blood-relations left.

Yúlië stepped over the threshold, setting down her load of dried reeds to the side of the door. Fëanáro sat on the bare floor next to the hearth, stuffing some new pillow cases with wool from the latest shearing of the sheep Yúlië's father reared, and hummed an old children's song at the same time to humour little Sumírë, who played with the discarded ends of yarn next to him.

She held up two fistfuls of them and smiled broadly up at Yúlië as Yúlië walked over to her. She crouched down to kiss her forehead, then turned to Fëanáro.

“So the...Ca –”

“Cazat,” Fëanáro helpfully finished for her. “Mom's embroideries made a _huge_ impression on them.”

Míriel looked up and met her son's gaze, sharing a look that spoke eloquently of their pride in their craft. The visiting Dwarves had fallen in love with two medium-sized tapestries and several smaller pieces of embroidery, and decided to take all, without much haggling on the price, either. “I gave them the tapestries I made after I healed, and they left those,” she said and went back to singing softly to herself while she stooped over her loom in brisk concentration, intent on making one more brightly coloured straw mat to better insulate the floor in the room where Fëanáro and Sumírë slept.

Yúlië turned towards the corner that Míriel's eyes had pointed at. Several pots and pans, of the most disparate shapes and sizes, but all made of metal, were heaped next to a bowl filled with what looked like shining stones and a cauldron large enough to be a bathtub, so big in fact that it stood out like a sore thumb in the still mostly bare hut, like a mountain lion stranded among cats. Apart from a tapestry hung at the far end of the main room and a low table, the only other items of furniture in the hut were a chest of clothes, a shelf with some dented crockery, and the wicker basket where Míriel kept her most precious tools. 

Fëanáro finished stuffing the last cushion and stitched it close with a large needle, his skill wasted on such a simple task. 

“Go out and get some some water from the well, please,” Yúlië told him, letting go of Sumírë, who turned to her big brother as he stood up. “Then stop by your great-aunt's, she promised to give us some of the herbs she gathered yesterday. And see if you can catch a hare or two for dinner while you're at it.”

Fëanáro hummed his assent. He stretched his arms over his head, closing his eyes for a moment as tension eased from his shoulders, then bent again to pick his sister up, and made for the door with Sumírë clinging happily to his neck. 

Yúlië took a sheaf of the dried reeds and settled down next to Míriel's loom, to make a much simpler mat for the area next to the hearth. “Do you plan to sell more tapestries?”

“Yes, I'll get started tomorrow. The Dwarves would have wanted our lake-view tapestry too, so I promised I'd made them one twice as big. We do need several more pieces of furniture. Some weapons would not be amiss either, the Dwarves claim they can make lethal, unbreakable ones,” Míriel said, stringing words together as fast as she worked her loom. 

“Well, if Fëanáro could devote a few days to simple carpentry, instead of pursuing whatever new fancy takes up his mind...” Yúlië ventured, but failed to get a response out of her lover. She sighed, and her gaze wandered to the tapestry with the new lake-view. It covered the whole wall, the sky a flowered field whose star-buds were neatly mirrored on the surface of the water. Míriel had made it soon after they had moved in, quickly assembling the loom together with Fëanáro and using up almost all of the thread she had brought with her from their old settlement, saying that she couldn't put off her inspiration. “He's your son.”

“He's yours too,” Míriel quietly rejoined. 

Yúlië didn't contradict that: Fëanáro responded to Yúlion just as he did to Therindion.

Míriel leant over and kissed her cheek. 

“Well, I guess we _will_ have to rely on trade to have decent furniture.”

“We'll probably end up with _much better_ furniture than if we made it ourselves at any rate.”

They worked in silence until they both looked up and stopped working at the same time as if by a silent agreement. They put their tools away and kissed again. Yúlië wrapped her arms around Míriel's waist, drawing her close. Míriel had plumped up quite in the years following her recovery, and she was only too happy about that – to feel generous curves and softness pressed flush against her, their breasts squished between them and their crotches tickling each other. 

“Shall we start preparing dinner?” Míriel breathed hoarsely, inclining her head towards the cauldron. “Or we could retire to our bedroom for a while, before Fëanáro comes back with the water and food.”

Yúlië nipped at her lower lip, a low chuckle rumbling up her throat. “It's not like we can do much in the way of cooking without those.”

Míriel grinned, and started stumbling backwards towards their bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> The Quenya equivalent of Khazad is actually Casar, but I guess the language of the Tatyar would have evolved differently.


End file.
